This is a hot August evening at the Paul Rey Theatre, and there is no air-conditioning, despite the building's distinguished name. A standing fan is running, but it is noisy. So when the diminutive old man asks audience members whether they want the fan to stay on during the performance, several women request that it be shut off so that it won't interfere with the production. As a result, perspiring arms touch, as the seats are placed close together, making the neighborliness unavoidable. I think the women are pompous and showing off. But I hold my tongue and settle in.